Stolen Boy’s Weblog

It was a day probably like any other day, but very different. And there I was with a celebrity of sorts, and at first I didn’t really know what to say. But Tyler Edmonds had flown all the way out to LA, thanks to an invitation from Dr. Phil, and he had some time to spare, so that’s why we were getting together in the first place.

Stolen Boy, Tyler Edmonds, and Universal Studios.

We had begun corresponding shortly after Tyler’s acquittal, and he had told me how very much he liked Stolen Boy, and how he appreciated all the things I had written about him. Now, they had just finished shooting Tyler’s episode with the doctor, and that’s why I had been circling around my old stomping grounds at Hollywood and Highland, right up the street from my alma mater, Hollywood High School. Because we had places to go and things to do. Because Tyler’s time in LA was running short.

Tyler Edmonds, Betsy Lott, and Stolen Boy. 

After about my twelfth trip around the block, and a quick study of all the barbed wire surrounding Hollywood High (was all that stuff really there when I went there?), I finally got him on the cell, and soon I found myself opening my door in front of the swank Hollywood hotel Dr. Phil had kept him in. Seconds after my three new friends took seats inside my car we were gone.

Tyler Edmonds blends into Hollywood, California.

Since Tyler had never really been anywhere in his life – thanks to the corrupt Mississippi criminal justice system that tried to lock him up forever and a day when he was thirteen – Tyler had been escorted out west by his wonderful savior/godmother, Betsy Lott, and her sweet fifteen-year-old son, George.

Our first stop was atop the Hollywood Hills, where from our Mulholland turnout, we checked out the San Fernando Valley, which included Universal Studios with all its lavish accoutrements. We took pictures and I tried desperately to find the space house, but it wasn’t visible like it had been when I was growing up there. It was hidden behind some grotesque million-dollar homes, so Tyler had a quick smoke, the four of us shared a few laughs, and off to the beach we went.

We ended up driving down the sweeping curves of Sunset Boulevard, past hotel row and Tower Records in Hollywood, through the glitzy multi-million dollar homes of Beverly Hills, and through all the high-rises of Westwood, and around UCLA.

Stolen Boy, Tyler Edmonds, and California’s Channel Islands. 

By the time we reached Highway 1, the orange orb was beginning to settle upon the blue-green serenity of the Pacific, and the peace of Malibu, California awaited us. This was where I used to belong.

I lived in Malibu when I went to undergrad at Pepperdine University and then to their school of law. Later, I had moved out there during my first days as a fledgling writer and I wanted Tyler to witness what the other side of life was like. Here’s a kid who had survived his battle with the beast. He had entered her belly as a tear-stricken, frightened boy, and left a young man with seemingly nowhere to go. And, now, here he was, sharing a moment with Betsy and George, new members to his family, and Stolen Boy.

As we stood atop the cooling Santa Monica Mountains, there were so many questions that I’d wanted to ask Tyler, so many things I’d wanted to say to him, but I didn’t. Sure, we did talk a little bit about the small stuff – which cars he liked, what he thought of West Coast girls, and which school Tyler would eventually attend.

George Lott, Betsy Lott, and Tyler Edmonds do Geoffrey’s, Malibu.

Tyler had talked about Mississippi State and he’d even mentioned possibly going to school in Arizona. And it was funny, too, because in his cool designer jacket and mirrored cop shades, Tyler looked perfectly natural in the rising hills above Malibu. Tyler looked like he could have just been left off with the other affluent students who attended my favorite university in the whole world. From watching him at the time, it was obvious Tyler was a kid of few words, but many thoughts and profound intelligence.

I tried to respect my short-lived time with Tyler, so I never asked him a word about his past. I wanted Tyler and his friends to enjoy every short moment they had with me. This wasn’t about me, and it wasn’t about my trying to pry into Tyler’s life, and bring his horrid past into this very serene moment. So we just watched as the fireball in the sky dipped into the blue horizon, and silence spoke a million words. George ran up into the scrub and took more pictures of the beauty that rests off the coast of education.

A contemplative moment with Tyler Edmonds.

And all the peace and comfort made us very hungry. And that’s when I decided to take charge. “Where do we eat? In Beverly Hills or Hollywood?” I would ask on more than three occasions. “Or do we just do it right here in Malibu?” I got tough, then as the debate expanded, and Betsy, who wanted to treat her boys to a wonderful meal, then made the final decision by buying the three of us hungry guys a wonderful starlit, ocean-cliff side dinner at Geoffrey’s. And we ate. And I kept my mouth shut, just appreciating how lucky I was to share this special moment with a very special kid, and two new friends. I felt the peace that Tyler had found, and understood why this kid truly was something very special. Why I was so lucky. How beautiful life can truly be when you’re just a kid…